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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334400">Deprivation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltedIceAngel/pseuds/MeltedIceAngel'>MeltedIceAngel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Iron-Dad and Spider-Son [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental overdose, Confusion, Delusions, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter really just wanted to sleep, Protective Tony Stark, Sleep Deprivation, Sleeping Pills, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:42:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltedIceAngel/pseuds/MeltedIceAngel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Really, Peter? Sleeping pills?” Peter groaned, his head pounding as he came to. He opened his eyes, locking them on the red-rimmed, puffy ones of his dad. He was in deep, deep shit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Iron-Dad and Spider-Son [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1213602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>252</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Deprivation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger Warning: Accidental overdose. No self-harm intended.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter tried to remember the last time he slept.</p><p>It had to have been days ago, maybe a week since he’d slept a proper six or seven hours. His head had begun to ache on the first day, his eyes drooping and mind fogging by the third. His body, light and agile to begin with, felt somehow even lighter. Helium balloon light, the sky looming threateningly above him as if he would one day be sucked up to meet it. </p><p>It was Saturday night, four in the morning, when Peter cried out in desperation. He was exhausted, nauseous with it, but his mind refused to relinquish its hold on math problems and old, despairing memories. He turned to the left, right, onto his back, eyes pressed so tightly together no light could seep in, yet sleep still wouldn’t take him. </p><p>He opened his red eyes and stared at the white of the ceiling. There had to be something he could do. If lying in bed for hours, listening to meditation music, and refusing to bring his electronics anywhere near his bed didn’t work, then what would?</p><p>Peter sat up a little straighter. He had been in the medbay plenty the past month, and he’d caught a glimpse of something that just may save him another sleepless night. </p><p>With a plan in mind, Peter rolled his body sluggishly toward the edge of the bed, tumbling off gracelessly. He picked himself up and made his way down to the medbay, hoping that Friday had been gracious enough to leave his walk a secret. He didn’t need her immediately ratting him out to his dad.  When no lights were flicked on behind him, Peter deemed it safe to open the door into the empty medical room. </p><p>“Almost,” Peter whispered to himself. “Almost there. Just need to find the melatonin, and you can finally sleep.” He didn’t bother to think about the implications of talking to himself as another entity. Instead, he focused all of his attention on the bottles of medication locked up for the night on the far back wall. Without thinking, Peter ripped the lock off the cabinet and started rifling through the bottles, not stopping until he found one that suited his needs. </p><p>Peter made his way back up to his room, shutting the door and settling himself in bed. Ambien. How much would someone with his metabolism need to take before it was effective? Peter turned the bottle around, reading the directions on the back. No more than 10mg, which meant 20mg should work. </p><p>Two pills fell into his hand, and Peter swallowed them dry. The bottle clanked on his nightstand as he laid back down, closing his eyes and waiting for the drugs to take effect. </p><p>When another forty-five minutes passed, Peter began to wonder whether he’d taken the proper dose after all. His metabolism was quite high in comparison to an average person’s, so maybe 30 or 40mg would have been a better number. </p><p>In his haze, Peter never considered that Bruce was down the hallway. If he had really wanted to know, he could’ve simply knocked on the man’s door and asked. If all else failed, Tony was one floor above him. Laying in bed with his dad would’ve been a more natural, safer option than trying to self-medicate, but as it was, all he wanted was to sleep. He didn’t want to talk. </p><p>Two pills later, and Peter was back to willing his mind to shut off for the night. He only had three hours until his alarm would go off. </p><p>He still couldn’t fall asleep. He felt drowsy, maybe a bit fuzzy around the edges. He was so close. With shaky legs, Peter stood, grabbing the bottle and walking into his bathroom. He felt strange, a bit unsteady, and maybe a little dizzy. He really just needed sleep. </p><p>Peter filled a cup with cold water, attempting to dump two more pills into his hand and ending up with a full handful, and a floor splattered with the rest. The bottle crashed loudly, but Peter’s body barely reacted. He was so tired. </p><p>Peter considered the handful of pills for a moment too long. Maybe his metabolism was too high for the pills to work. After all, even morphine IVs didn’t work properly on him, let alone ibuprofen or Tylenol pills. It was the same, wasn’t it? Pills didn’t work on him. Even with that thought in mind, Peter shakily brought the rest of them to his mouth, swallowing them down with the whole glass of water. </p><p>His vision blacked out momentarily, and he thought; finally, his torment was going to end. He turned to walk back to his room, stumbling over shaky legs and collapsed onto his bed. He laid there for a moment, nausea creeping upon him. Maybe he overdid it? No, he couldn’t have. He was still awake. </p><p>Just as black began to consume his vision, his door burst open, and a familiar figure stumbled its way into his room. It wasn’t his dad, no, his dad’s arm didn’t shine like that in the light. When did someone turn on the light?</p><p>“Kid? Kid! Shit,” Peter heard Steve’s cry of language in his head, and he smirked before his face went numb. His body was thrust up and off the bed, pajama-clad legs dragging over the carpeted floor. “Oh God, how many did you take?” The person screamed, tossing him up and over into the bathtub. Lukewarm water sprayed over him, and before he knew it, he felt something prodding at his lips.</p><p>Peter bent all the way over, gagging around the person’s fingers in his mouth. He vomited once, and yet the fingers still refused to move. The second shot up from his stomach like fire. He screamed hoarsely through it, coughing violently as partially digested pills got stuck in his throat. </p><p>“Peter? Peter!” Another voice yelled from outside the bathroom. That voice sounded nice. Familiar. He held onto it as he started to lose his grip on consciousness again. “Oh my God. Peter, it’s dad, do you hear me?” His dad was there. That was good, he’d always wanted his dad there while he slept. </p><p>“Don’t make him throw up!” Another new voice yelled just as the fingers came back. “He’ll aspirate. We need to get him to the medbay.” His body was moved again, the vomit on his shirt and pants splattering on the porcelain below him.</p><p>“Pete, hang on, kiddo. You’ll be alright,” Peter heard his dad say. </p><p>He finally let himself sleep. </p>
<hr/><p>“Really, Peter? Sleeping pills?” Peter groaned, his head pounding as he came to. He opened his eyes, locking them on the red-rimmed, puffy ones of his dad. He was in deep, deep shit. </p><p>Peter let the thoughts tread around sluggishly in his mind. He realized it very close to the end, the second time he puked up the pills, that he had gone way too far. He was lucky that they had found him.</p><p>He didn’t want to die.</p><p>“I just wanted to sleep,” Peter’s voice cracked, eyes burning. How close had he been to never waking up again? </p><p>“Pete, you were dead. Your heart stopped,” Tony bit out, hands shaking where they held tightly onto Peter’s. “If Bucky hadn’t forced them out, I don’t know-” Tony’s breath hitched, one of his hands coming up to rub away the tears. </p><p>“I couldn’t sleep,” Peter sobbed, ignoring the way his dad went to speak again. “It was like nothing I did worked. I tried everything. Even the pills didn’t work. I was still awake, and I had three hours until decathlon practice, and I was so tired.” Peter turned his face toward the opposite wall, his lips wobbling as he tried to hold himself together. Tony was silent for a long time. Long enough, the tears Peter so desperately tried to contain had soaked through the pillow below his head.</p><p>“Look at me, kiddo,” Tony whispered, gently prying Peter’s face to face him. Peter’s eyes stayed trained on the wall, unable to look at his dad in the eye. “If you can’t sleep, you come to me. You come to me, and we’ll stay up all night watching Star Wars together. We’ll make hot chocolate, or eat popsicles, or just lay in bed and stay awake together. I love you, Peter. Three hours of sleep is not worth your life, do you hear me?” </p><p>Peter sobbed, covering his face. He was so embarrassed and ashamed.  It was stupid of him; the case was locked up for a reason. The feeling of his dad’s lips pecking him gently on the forehead did little to loosen the vice-like grip anxiety held over his heart. Even the dipping of the bed and the feeling of his dad’s arms wrapping around him didn’t help. Nothing ever helped anymore.</p><p>“What’s wrong with me?” Peter asked, muffled by his dad’s lab shirt. Tony sighed, cuddling him closer. </p><p>“This is why I didn’t want Spider-Man to exist without Iron Man by his side,” Tony said, and Peter clenched his eyes closed, shaking. He dug his face impossibly deeper into his dad’s chest, the whir of the arc reactor chipping ever so slowly at the permanent ache. “Stuff happens. Bad stuff, and sometimes we can’t handle it alone. Iron-Man needs War Machine and Captain America sometimes.</p><p>But it’s not just that, Pete. Sometimes Tony Stark needs someone too. He needs Colones Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Happy Hogan. Sometimes, Tony Stark needs Peter Parker.” Tony paused then. Peter grasped at his dad’s shirt. Yeah, he knew his dad needed him. It happened a lot, especially after the Accords and subsequent fall out with one of the most cherished people in Tony’s inner circle. Peter loved being there for him. He’d be there all day and night if needed.</p><p>“I just wanted to be strong. I want to show you that you don’t have to worry about me,” Peter said.</p><p>“You’re my son, I will always worry about you. It’s part of the territory,” Tony said, sticking a finger in Peter’s side to try and get him to laugh. A laugh bubbled up in Peter’s chest, and before long, he was fighting off his dad as much as he could manage, begging him to stop. “Now tell me, who does Spider-Man need?” Tony asked once they settled down, Peter’s head pillowed on his dad’s upper arm. </p><p>“War Machine and Bruce Banner,” Peter said and stopped there. Tony scoffed and looked him in the eye, motioning toward himself. “I need you. Life would be really lonely without someone to watch Return of the Jedi with eleven times.” Tony rolled his eyes but smiled regardless. </p><p>Peter’s eyes began to droop again, exhaustion taking over. Before Peter managed to drift off again, Tony asked, “Should I rip into you now about the busted lock, or later?” </p><p>“Never?” Peter blinked owlishly up at his dad. </p><p>“Later it is then,” Tony nodded, running his hands through Peter’s hair. Finally, without having to fight for it, Peter fell asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ask me questions: https://curiouscat.qa/gypsyether</p></blockquote></div></div>
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